Elian stirred, feeling the warm, firm body beneath his face. Slowly, he opened his eyes to find Lucien staring at him with the most relaxed look he had ever seen on him.
His face heated up instantly; he was not used to having those green eyes stare at him with no hate or darkness in them.
He looked away, planning to roll off Lucien’s body.
"Sleep well?" Lucien asked groggily, his hand cupping Elian’s face.
Elian gulped and reluctantly looked back up into Lucien’s eyes. "Good morning," he whispered.
Lucien smiled, leaning down. "Good morning, El," he murmured huskily, and kissed Elian’s lips.
It was slow, purposeful, and heavily loaded with what his words could not say.
Elian sighed into the kiss, his body melting into Lucien’s warmth.
He pulled away, placing his hand flat on Lucien’s chest, feeling the steady beat under his palm.
"It’s sunrise..." Elian said quietly, staring into Lucien’s eyes.
Lucien caressed Elian’s chin, pressing his forehead against his. "You look beautiful this morning... always beautiful," he murmured, kissing Elian’s cheek.
Elian’s toes curled under the sheets, his pulse racing treacherously. "The sun is out, Lucien... we should go," he mumbled.
"Mm..." Lucien hummed, pulling Elian flush against himself. "Do you want me to fuck you before we leave?" he whispered huskily into Elian’s ear, kissing his neck slowly.
Elian moaned softly, his fingers grazing Lucien’s neck. "Lucien... stop..." he whispered, tilting his head back to give Lucien more access to his neck.
"Are you sure you want me to stop?" Lucien whispered against Elian’s neck. "It seems to me like you’re asking me to..." His hand slid down Elian’s arm and to his waist, cupping his soft ass, "...like you want me to fuck you, slow... deep, sweet. Do you want that, El?"
Elian bit his lip, staring at Lucien with a complex look. He wanted to push him away, but he wanted to pull him in at the same time.
Elian’s resolve wavered as he felt the heavy, knowing weight of Lucien’s hand on him. He knew that if he said yes, he might never have the strength to leave the cabin at all. He took a shaky breath, forcing his hands to press against Lucien’s chest, pushing back—just an inch—to create a sliver of space.
"No," Elian whispered, though his voice lacked conviction. "We have to go. The manor... they’ll notice if we’re both gone too long."
Lucien studied his face, the raw hunger in his eyes slowly retreating behind a veil of reluctant, possessive care. He let out a long, grounding exhale, his fingers lingering on Elian’s waist for a second too long before he finally pulled away, rolling off the bed. The air in the cabin suddenly felt much cooler.
"You are a cruel man, Elian," Lucien teased, though his eyes remained serious as he stood up, his movements fluid and athletic.
Elian scrambled to gather his discarded clothes, his face burning. While he dressed, he couldn’t stop Lucien from being impossible. Every time Elian tried to pull on his shirt, Lucien was there—looping an arm around his waist, pressing a kiss to his shoulder, or murmuring something distracting against his ear. He was relentless, a man who had tasted freedom and wasn’t ready to lock it away again.
"Lucien, please, stop," Elian huffed, though he found himself leaning into the contact, his resolve melting under the constant, heated attention.
"I can’t seem to help myself," Lucien murmured, his hand sliding up Elian’s arm, pulling him close for one last, lingering kiss that tasted like morning and exhaustion.
Finally, they stepped out onto the porch. The world was awash in the soft, golden light of dawn. Lucien led them to the shed, his movements still possessive, his hand never leaving the small of Elian’s back. He brought the horse out, securing the tack with practiced ease before turning to Elian. He didn’t wait; he lifted Elian effortlessly, settling him in front of him in the saddle, his arms wrapping around the younger man’s waist to draw him flush against his chest.
The ride back through the woods was quiet, but it was a heavy, charged kind of silence. Lucien was unstoppable in his affection, using the excuse of the ride to pull Elian closer, his chin resting on Elian’s shoulder. Every few minutes, he would lean in to press a lingering, possessive kiss against Elian’s neck or the shell of his ear, his breath hot and distracting against Elian’s skin.
"Just a little longer," Lucien whispered into his hair, his voice vibrating through Elian’s back.
Elian closed his eyes, letting his head loll back against Lucien’s shoulder. He was trying to memorize the feeling of this version of the Duke—the one who whispered, not commanded.
But as the trees began to thin, the sight of the familiar, imposing iron gates of the Stonewall Manor came into view.
The moment the manor walls appeared, the atmosphere shifted. Lucien’s posture stiffened behind him, the arm around Elian’s waist tightening almost imperceptibly.
Then, Elian’s blood ran cold.
Ahead, parked directly in front of the main entrance, was a carriage he recognized instantly. It wasn’t one of the Duke’s. It was elegant, opulent, and unmistakably alien to this estate.
"Rowena," Elian breathed, the name barely audible.
The carriage door was open, and a figure was stepping out, surrounded by guards. Elian’s heart slammed against his ribs. The sanctuary of the cabin, the warmth of the fire, the secret language they had shared—it all evaporated in the crisp morning air.
He felt Lucien’s body go rigid against his back. The Duke’s grip on the reins became a white-knuckled hold, and the playful, lingering kisses stopped instantly, replaced by a cold, sharp silence.
The dream was over. Reality had arrived at the gate, and Elian knew that the dynamic between them—the "us" that had barely begun to breathe—was about to be tested in the cruelest way possible.
The horse trotted forward, slowly stopping behind the carriage.
Elian watched in horror as Rowena walked behind the carriage, her sleek black hair shimmering under the sun, her skin smooth and bright.
The moment her eyes landed on Elian sitting with Lucien on the horse, something flashed across her eyes, but she blinked it away immediately.
"My love... did you go out?" she asked quietly, her voice soft as she smiled.
Lucien climbed down from the horse and helped Elian down, immediately stepping away the moment he made sure Elian was okay.
He turned to Rowena, taking slow steps toward her. "My princess, what brings you back here?"
Rowena beamed, closing the space between them by hugging Lucien. "Are you not happy to see me?" she asked, gently tucking Lucien’s hair behind his ear.
Lucien smiled. "It’s always a pleasure to have you here, my Princess," he murmured.
"I know." With that, she tipped on her toes and kissed him slowly.
Lucien went completely rigid, his skin suddenly creeping with harsh repulsion. But he could not push her away; even when he sensed Elian slowly withdrawing behind him, he let Rowena kiss him, because that was the right thing to do.
"I missed you so much, but I have only come as company. I shall return tomorrow morning," she said, resting her cheek on his chest.
Lucien lifted his face, watching Elian walk toward the manor with his head lowered.
"Who did you accompany?" Lucien asked, looking toward the carriage.
"Come," she said, pulling him toward the carriage.
Lucien followed quietly, his eyes narrowing.
"Lysandra, you can come out now," Rowena said, pulling the carriage door open.
The air around the carriage seemed to thicken, the morning light suddenly feeling suffocating. Lysandra stepped down, her movements elegant and deliberate. She didn’t look at Rowena; her gaze locked onto Lucien with a warm, knowing smile that cut through the pleasant facade of the reunion.
Lucien’s hand, which had just moments ago been forced to rest on Rowena’s waist, dropped entirely, his fingers curling into a tight, white-knuckled fist at his side. He didn’t greet her, offering only a polite nod.
He stood like a statue, the warmth of the cabin—the memory of Elian beneath him—stripped away by the cold reality of who stood before him.
Elian, having retreated toward the manor doors, stopped. He couldn’t help it. He turned back, his breath hitching as he watched the scene unfold. He saw the way Lucien’s jaw tightened, the way the Duke’s eyes flickered toward him for a frantic, half-second plea for help before refocusing on the women.
"You didn’t mention she was coming," Lucien said, his voice a low, dangerous growl that barely managed to keep its composure.
Rowena laughed, a sound like glass chimes that held no humor. "It was a surprise, my love. A necessary one, don’t you think? There are matters of the crown—and of your estate—that require a more... thorough oversight."
Lysandra finally spoke, her voice smooth, syrupy, and dripping with a hidden intent that made the hair on Elian’s arms stand up. "The Duke seems overwhelmed, Rowena."
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